A World on Fire
by songofabird
Summary: Broken down entirely after being almost taken by Gorman, Beth becomes the shell of a girl she once was. Finding out that she was sexually assaulted only fuels Daryl's anger and need for vengeance. Along the way, Beth rediscovers her strength with the help of Daryl.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first fic (ever) and it's going to really focus on Beth and Daryl's development** _ **together**_ **. They'll both contribute to each other's growth, and in between all of it, we'll see some romance, and, who knows? Maybe even a bit more ;)**

 **If you could take the time to favorite or even write a review, it'd mean a lot. It'll help me get these chapters up a lot quicker if I know people are enjoying them. Anyway, there might be some triggering content ahead, but I hope you all enjoy! I wrote this listening to Wicked Games by James Vincent McMorrow, and that's where the title of the fic comes from.**

 _What changed your mind?_

Beth's words echoed at the back of Daryl's dark mind, watching as she was taken, wondering if that perfect moment would be his last memory of her.

Daryl didn't believe in God. Didn't believe in luck. Didn't believe in much. But somehow, against all his fucked up logic, against the shitty hand he'd been dealt his entire life, he'd come to believe in Beth.

"Beth!" Daryl cried out, wasting no time in sprinting after her. He pushed his tired feet against the pavement, hard, willing his own damn, tired body to run faster. To run harder. For her. For Beth.  
The car began to swerve around on the road as it appeared to lose control, and at that particular moment, a glimmer of hope.

The back door opened, and he saw a body roll out while the car was still moving. Greedy, prying hands could be seen reaching towards her fragile, injured body as she rolled on the pavement before coming to a harsh stop by the grass. The car slammed on its brakes, but after some deliberation, they sped off.

"Beth?" Daryl called out again, pushing with all of his might until he reached Beth. She was sprawled out on the road. It was too dark and the walkers were too close for Daryl to risk the time to examine her wounds. So instead, he draped his bow across his back and knelt over, picking her up.

"Got ya," he said, as she squirmed around in his arms. "Shh, it's me. I got ya," he repeated, causing Beth's big and widened eyes to relax at the sound of his voice. "Gonna find us a place," he promised her. "Gonna find us a place," he repeated, the second time almost for himself.

"It took Beth a moment, like a child that had just been struck and there was that inexplicably long moment of waiting. Waiting to see if they'd cry, waiting to see if they'd yell. _Waiting._

Beth gasped, and soon after, she was overcome with tears. Her hysterical state was not exactly convenient at that particular time, especially since he was sure the walkers were not far off. But he remained silent, much like he always did with her.

"Oh, Daryl…" Beth whimpered meekly, shaking her head out of sheer frustration and anger and maybe hurt, too. "The things they said… they were gonna ra–…" She cut herself off before she could finish saying the word, and that's when she broke down entirely.

Beth, who was beautiful and kind and loving, wailed with desperation in his arms.

Beth, who was strong and fierce and composed, wrapped an arm around his neck, tight, afraid to let go.

Beth, who was terrified and hurt and tired, pressed her mouth against his neck as she cried.

It wasn't a kiss. But she pressed herself so close to Daryl, it could've easily been mistaken for one. It might've seemed like her hot breath against his skin was what evoked a reaction out of him, but truthfully, he hadn't been paying much attention to that.

Daryl froze in his tracks, clenching his fists beneath her body. He was shaking, and he was sure that she could feel it, too. Daryl couldn't even relish in the sensation of her dampened lips being pressed against his neck as she continued to speak.

"Th-they said they'd take r-real g-…good care of me…"

All his mind could think about was that word – the one that she was on the verge of shouting out. If she said it, that made it real, and he didn't want that.

"They touch you?" He asked. Daryl's voice was typically strong and composed and gruff, but it came out high pitched and weak. He could hear the snarls of the walkers getting closer, but he couldn't move. Not until she answered.

Beth blinked once, but then her face was overcome with shame as she looked down at the floor.

A wave of anger that began in his chest flared through him like a wildfire that was dangerous and needed putting out. The same anger he felt as a kid, watching his Pa beat on his Ma with a belt until she was bruised and bleeding, resurfaced for the first time in years.

Daryl thought to himself. No one deserved this, but especially not Beth. Sweet, kind, loving Beth…

The sound of the walkers is what eventually pulled him back into the present. A small group of walkers were on their tail, and gaining on them fast. He began to walk quickly with Beth in his arms, before eventually, she wiggled out, insisting that they'd be quicker if they were both on their feet. He couldn't argue, but after what had happened, Daryl wanted nothing more than to hold her close against his chest, drape his arms around her tiny frame and shield her from the horrors of this new world.

[ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ] 

They managed to outrun the walkers by going back into the wooded area of Georgia, where Daryl felt the most comfortable. The silence between them was heavy. No absentminded hums from Beth that normally filled the void between the two. He had thought things would be different after the funeral home, but maybe not. Maybe this was it for Beth. He knew that she was strong. Hell, she knew it way before he did. But maybe this was her breaking point – almost being kidnapped, raped by strange men who felt like they were owed something at the end of the world.

Daryl's blood was still boiling when they found a rundown house, right smack in the middle of the woods. It looked exactly like the one Daryl had grown up in, only in a more rural area. The front porch was falling apart, the screen door out front barely hanging on by a thread. He wasn't sure it'd be a safe place to stay that night – especially not when the demons of his own upbringing were dangerously close to resurfacing in a place like that, but he knew that Beth needed shelter, a place to rest, a place to get her mind together. 

Daryl gave her one nod, and she blinked in response. They understood each other without saying a single word. Daryl unslung his crossbow and stuck his old flashlight in his mouth. They knew the routine – knock on the walls a couple of times, see if they could draw any of them out.

But something in Beth didn't care for routine that particular night, because she stomped into the house without warning.

"Beth!" Daryl hissed, following up the tattered front steps behind her.

"Hey!" Beth yelled out loudly, banging on the walls of the house. "Come get it, assholes," she cried out, her voice unlike he'd ever heard it before. Desperate, sad, and most of all, angry.

"The hell you doin', girl? Got a death wish?" He growled, speaking before he could even think. Instinctively, Daryl grabbed her by the arm and roughly snatched her away from the hallway. He could hear the snarls of the dead making their way towards the two of them. By this point, Beth had fallen to the floor, crying.

Daryl fought off a pair of walkers, alone, before leaving Beth on the ground to cry while he cleared the rest of the house and dragged the bodies outside. He secured it while she just sat there, crying. Daryl knew that securing the house was the most important thing, so he covered all the windows and essentially barricaded themselves into the tiny house. He knew, from the looks of Beth, that they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Not wanting to waste what little battery was left on his flashlight, Daryl made use of a few oil lamps that he'd found stowed away in some boxes. These people were prepared. Like his own Ma. Always walking around with a bible in her hand, sayin' that it'd be any day now that the Lord would come an' take them to paradise.

He let Beth have her space while he rummaged through the house, wishing, praying that the crying would stop. Not because he couldn't handle it, but because it damn nearly ripped his heart in two, and he didn't know what to do about it.

 _Hold her_ , a voice told him. Comfort her, do _somethin'._

 _I can't_ , he replied back.

Suddenly, he saw his father, sitting on that stupid, ripped up couch. An eight-year-old Daryl was crawling behind it, trying to find a stray playin' card that he'd lost. As Daryl was crawling back out, he'd accidentally knocked over a lamp, which apparently really pissed his father off, despite that it didn't even work.

"The hell you thinking, boy?!" His father's voice boomed, and it shook Daryl to the core. His Ma was passed out, drunk, in the bedroom. "Can't touch anything without destroyin' it!" Daryl's lip began to tremble, and before he could stop himself, a tear rolled down his cheek, and that was all the motivation his father needed to grab him by the collar of his shirt and kick him in the stomach until he fell.

"Didn't raise no fuckin' faggot, boy. You go on and get the belt so I can make a man outta you," he demanded. Daryl wanted to protest, to shake his head, to run away.

 _But instead:_

"Y-yessir," Daryl replied as he ran to search for his daddy's belt.

Daryl glanced back at Beth, who was slightly less hysterical at this point. He walked over to where she sat on the ground, lighting the oil lamp and setting it a few feet away from her.

"Lemme look at ya," Daryl suggested. He waited until she turned her body towards him completely before kneeling down in front of her. There were tiny pieces of gravel still stuck in her arm from when she'd rolled out of the car. His rough hands pulled them out, gentle as he could. They hadn't dug into her skin as much as just really made some pretty deep indentions.

"It hurt?" He asked gruffly, running the pads of his fingers over the road burn on her arm. She flinched. He never meant to be so rough.

She looked up at him, and he kicked himself for asking such a stupid question. "Ain't my arm that's hurtin', Daryl Dixon…" she whimpered in the darkness, soft blue eyes falling down at the stained carpet.

"Nothin' to be scared of no more."

"How do you know?"

"Just do."

"…Ok."

It was the best that Daryl could do in terms of comfort. He figured that he could scope out the rest of the house, hoping there'd be something useful to salvage. Maybe food, if they were lucky. But Beth had other plans.

She inched closer to him, tear stained face so exhausted that he couldn't bring it in himself to tell her that there was still so much left to do. She rested one of her hands on his chest, her fingers grasping onto the fabric of his shirt, while the other snaked around his back. She buried her face in his chest, next to her hand.

Daryl's breath hitched, and he remained absolutely still, both of his hands down at his side.

"Hold me," Beth requested, her voice soft and sad and barely even a whisper.

He remembered his father's words. _"Can't touch anything without destroyin' it!"_

"Ok."

It was a foreign concept, holding someone, but especially Beth. So fragile and innocent, and even after her experience that night, she still trusted him – a man – to hold her and keep her safe. Daryl reluctantly wrapped an arm around her tiny frame, his rough, calloused hands tracing a small zig zag shaped pattern on her back. In response, Beth squeezed onto him tighter and sighed shakily. She was crying again. He rested his back against the wall in the hallway and let out a deep breath.

"Nothin' to be scared of no more, girl. I got ya. An' I'ma make them pay for this."

Beth didn't respond, she just shuddered and held onto him for dear life.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to post! I rewrote this chapter three times. And still – it didn't turn out the way that I'd wanted it to. It's very long. And, just so you know: there is a bit of smut at the end. It was very unexpected for me to write, but it was also very, very sweet. I hadn't anticipated for this to happen so soon, but trust me when I say that this happened for a reason. All will be revealed in coming chapters. Thank you for all your support, and as always, be sure to leave a review if you can!**

 **The song I listened to for this chapter was Linger by the Cranberries. Enjoy!**

Beth and Daryl were no strangers to sleeping in tight knit spaces, warm bodies pressed against each other in the dark, their hearts thumping wildly inside their chests. It was a strange sensation, when Beth would shift, a feeble attempt on her part at finding comfort on a makeshift bed. The pads of her fingers would brush against the back of Daryl's hand. They'd both freeze, for half a second, before pretending it never happened. Little moments like that sent a rush of electricity down Daryl's spine, wondering – against all the odds – if Beth felt the same sensation when _he_ touched _her_.

There was one night in particular, spent in an old tent out in the woods, when it began to storm. It was dark – the tent shook violently, and while he could feel Beth trembling at his side, Daryl was perfectly still – as if his lack of movement would keep them both safe and grounded. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light, followed by a loud crack rippling through the sky that shook the ground beneath them. Beth jumped – hell, Daryl did, too – but Beth flung herself against his chest, her elbow digging into his stomach. Daryl grunted in response. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice soft. It was dark, but he could see the apples of her cheeks growing red rather quickly. Beth turned away from him immediately, but he could hear the sound of a devilish grin spreading across her face.

Now, Daryl wondered if they'd ever get moments like that back. Beth was currently nestled up against his chest. Her dainty hand was still curled into the collar of his shirt, her knuckles white. Anytime Daryl did so much as shift his position, Beth's brows furrowed in her sleep and her bottom lip puckered out the tiniest bit. It would've been enough to make him chuckle – smile, even, had it been on any other night.

It would've been enough. _It would've_.

Ten days. Ten agonizingly long days since Beth had almost been taken. And, in those ten days, the only thing that the two shared was silence. Perhaps Beth wasn't ready to talk yet. Perhaps Daryl should've dug deeper. Asked more questions. And still, after an entire day of silence, Beth would inevitably wrap Daryl's arms around her petite frame. He figured it was the only way that she could really sleep at night.

His thought process was jumbled, messy, as the first sign of light streamed through the crevices of the windows he'd boarded up the night before. They'd found an old trailer park on the outskirts of a small town, and he figured it would be enough for now. Enough for Beth to heal, both physically and mentally. The wounds she'd endured from falling out of a moving car weren't nearly as severe as they should've been. She'd been scratched up pretty severely, but no broken limbs. Thankfully.

Daryl had grown accustomed to losing sleep and keeping watch. He didn't mind. He knew that Beth needed it more than he did. She always did. Especially that week.

For the first time ever, they'd shared a bed. And while it made Daryl's stomach twist in knots at the sight of Beth, _Beth Greene_ , laying there, _waiting_ for _him,_ Daryl Dixon – redneck, white trash Daryl Dixon – to crawl in so he could lay next to fucking _perfection_ …well, Daryl knew better than to get his hopes up. _Just in need of comfortin', tha's all,_ he told himself.

Beth began fidgeting in her sleep. A soft moan, followed by a yawn, escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered open with such goddamn _grace_. Daryl remembered watching those damn Hollywood movies with the pretty girls, how they'd stretch their arms high in the air before wrapping the blankets closer to their bodies for warmth. How they looked so damn flawless. He thought it was a load of complete fucking bullshit.

Beth didn't look a damn thing like Scarlett, and she was still a thousand times better than Hollywood. The nights were cold now, but despite this – the close contact with Daryl's leather jacket left Beth sweaty and warm, her blonde, flyaway curls now matted against her forehead.

She didn't move right away. Stayed right there, pressed up against him, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist. Daryl's heart beat quickened as a result, and he held his breath momentarily, wondering what the hell was inside that pretty damn head of hers. Finally, Beth sighed and began to loosen her grip on Daryl before pulling away from him entirely.

Daryl let out the breath that he'd been holding in, a sigh of disappointment following from the lack of warmth from her skin. It took Beth a few seconds to gather herself, but eventually, she looked up at Daryl, soft eyes examining him for a moment.

"You didn't sleep. _Again_ …" She'd phrased it like a question, but it sure as hell didn't sound like one. More of an observation, really.

"Nah. Wasn't tired," he lied, shrugging his shoulders as he stood to his feet, stretching his sore limbs. "Some peaches in my bag." He told her, grabbing his crossbow from a chair in the corner of the room they shared.

"Wait, where are you goin'?!" Beth sat up in bed quickly, eyes wild and frantic.

"Gonna take a piss."

"Oh." She relaxed slightly, cheeks red as she wrapped the blanket tight around her shoulders. "Well, be careful," she added in, a little awkward.

Daryl snorted. "Be careful taking a piss?"

And, for the first time in ten days, a giggle escaped Beth's lips. She shook her head bashfully, pursing her lips together to suppress another giggle.

"You know what I mean…"

Daryl made sure that the perimeter was secure, their string of cans still intact, before relieving himself on the back of the mobile home. He stayed close, knowing Beth would worry if he was gone for too long.

And then, like always, the snarl of a nearby walker could be heard stumbling through the trees. Daryl loaded up his crossbow quickly, aiming carefully as the dead stumbled through some trees and made itself known. With arms outstretched towards Daryl, teeth chomping into the air, Daryl almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. It looked fresh – and it looked like it'd been a survivor, too. A machete and a crowbar were hanging off its backpack, along with a few bottles of water and a flashlight.

"Ugly son a' bitch," Daryl grunted before pulling the trigger. His bolt landed in the walker's eye before it collapsed onto the ground with no such grace whatsoever. Daryl stripped the man of any and all of his supplies – including the long coat he'd been wearing. It'd come in handy, now that winter was quickly approaching.

Suddenly, a few more snarls could be heard, and just as Daryl was about to stand to his feet, he heard a loud crash come from inside the trailer. _Beth_.

Scrambling to the front door, Daryl pushed his way inside, newly acquired machete in hand, to find Beth on the floor of the kitchen with a few paper plates scattered next to her.

Daryl made a noise and his face twitched in slight confusion. Beth began giggling. Two times in half an hour? Things were looking up.

"Was trying to find some plates for the food. Slipped," she managed in between giggles, before her expression fell. "Daryl, behind you!"

He'd forgotten to shut the damn door.

Beth's warning came a little too late, because a handful of walkers were pushing inside. One was on top of Daryl – and then another. Beth scrambled to her feet, grabbing the fallen machete next to Daryl's body.

Using every ounce of his strength, Daryl shoved their necks upward, one by one, helping Beth's decapitate a few of them in one quick swing. Their darkened blood spilled all over Daryl's clothing, but that was the least of his worries. "The door," Daryl managed to whisper he shoved the rest of them off. A herd was passing through, and if they had any sort of luck left, the rest of the dead would walk right past them.

Together, Beth and Daryl secured the front door with an old bookcase. The windows were already boarded up, but that by no means meant that they were safe. Daryl lifted a finger up to his mouth and, after picking up the bags from the kitchen, guided her to the only hallway in the mobile home. "Bathroom," he mouthed, and she nodded, stepping inside behind him.

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered, shuddering at the sight of Daryl.

"Just gotta be more careful. Both of us," he clarified, because this was just as much his fault as it was hers. She slumped down next to the bathtub, eyeing the new pack he carried.

"Took it off a dead one. For you."

She smiled up at him, taking it and untying the top. It was packed almost to the top with food and water. No weapons – aside from the crowbar and the machete that were hanging off the pack. And a journal.

"Could be stuck in here for a while," he told Beth, clearing his throat.

"It's okay," she shrugged, glancing at him.

[ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ]

The bathroom was almost completely dark now, save for the small amount of light coming in from a very tiny window above the shower. They'd been in there for hours. They shared a small meal of canned peaches before Beth broke the silence.

"You should take your shirt off."

Daryl's face reddened. "Huh?"

"The blood's stuck on ya. C'mon, I'll help you get cleaned up."

Daryl couldn't argue with her for much longer. She stood to her feet, rummaging through the bathroom cabinets until she found a few rags and a small bowl. She dumped a half a bottle of water in there before dipping the rag in there. And, all the while, Daryl just stood there.

"Well, c'mon then," she laughed, wet hands working on the buttons of his shirt.

Instinctively, Daryl reached up and grabbed her wrist. "I got it," he told her.

She shrugged, unbothered, before swirling the piece of cloth in the bowl of water a few times.

For his age, Daryl was in damn good shape, but that didn't make him feel any less self-conscious. He, by no means, thought that he was a good looking man. And that had never really bothered him, either. Not until Beth.

[ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ]

Beth ran her fingers along Daryl's chest before realizing what she was doing. She blushed a little, in the dark, but he didn't grab her wrist. His breath hitched, but Beth did her best to simply ignore it and keep working.

"Got some on your neck," she murmured under her breath. He could do this himself. He knew it. She knew it. And yet, she kept going. While one of her hands worked on scrubbing the dirt and blood on his neck, the other rested on his shoulder.

Everything went quiet, save for the few walkers that could be heard slamming against the walls outside. And yet, despite this, Beth still felt at ease because she knew she was safe with him. He'd never promised to keep her safe – not out loud, anyway. But he'd promised her in other ways – like when he let her have the last sip of water. Or when he woke up at the crack of dawn to hunt their meal for the day. Or when he let her have the blanket, despite the fact that the temperature was quickly dropping with each night that passed.

Beth dragged the rag across his chest and down to his stomach. Shit. Maybe she'd gone too low. She could feel him trembling beneath her touch. She blushed, pulling her hand away and dipping the rag into the clean water.

"Walker blood's hard to get off," she admitted sheepishly, wringing the rag over the water. "Turn around," she said, her voice a little shaky.

"No, 's okay…" He responded in the dark, his face an emotion she couldn't entirely read. It did, however, resemble the look on his face at the funeral home.

 _What changed your mind?_

 _Oh._

She'd seen the scarring on his back – but only partially, when she walked behind him out in the woods. And she wasn't afraid of it. She knew of the horrors he must've endured growing up. A part of Beth didn't want to hear any of it. But another part craved for Daryl to simply open up – tell her everything he was too afraid to tell anyone else.

Still, Beth dragged the rag over his shoulders and onto his back. They were standing exceptionally close now – after all, her short arms could only reach so far. She could feel the water dripping down his back. Her heart was pounding so fast – he'd never let her get this close before. And she was waiting, silently observing him, seeing how much was _too much_.

But he didn't push her away. Not yet, at least.

The torn piece of cloth had somehow slipped out of her hands, falling in the sink behind him.

Now, she used her hands to clean him. He gasped.

She lightly dragged the pads of her fingers across the rough, slightly raised skin on his back. She could feel the scars – they were all big, some inconsistent. He flinched beneath her touch. And Beth craved to silence his doubts. _No one's ever going to do that to you anymore, Daryl Dixon. I won't let them._

Instead, Beth let out a shaky sigh. What were they doing? She wasn't quite sure what she wanted. Not after what had happened last week. Maybe this was her mind's own fucked up way of processing it. But maybe it wasn't. Because, for the first time all week, she felt damn sure of herself. She felt secure there, knowing Daryl would die before letting anything happen to her.

And he scared her. God, he scared the fuck out of her. He could so easily snap – he could easily crush her. But he wouldn't…

Beth brought her hands back over his chest. He still wasn't touching her. Maybe he was too scared to. Maybe he didn't want to.

 _Oh_. He was waiting for permission.

Beth's fingers slid down to his lower stomach. And when she did, she felt Daryl's body twitch in response.

"Beth." He finally spoke. His voice was low, a whisper, and gruff. It was a warning.

"Do you want me to stop?" She asked, blushing as she ducked to avoid his gaze in the dark.

He stayed silent for quite some time. They both held their breaths. They could still hear the walkers outside, but that was the least of their worries. "I want you to stop if you wanna stop."

This time, Beth had a choice, and maybe that's why it was so easy to keep going. Maybe that's why she didn't want to stop. Daryl was a good man. Kind, deserving, and a little broken. She trusted him.

Beth pressed her body into Daryl, and… _oh_.

She could feel him, _hard_ , against the fabric of his pants. _She'd done that_. Instinctively, she looked up at him. The tips of his ears had gone red. Before he could speak, before he could utter a word of protest, Beth slid her hand into his pants. They were tight, making it hard for her hand to get very far. She should've unzipped them first. But Beth wasn't exactly experienced with this sort of thing, and he knew that.

When Beth's fingers came in contact with Daryl's cock, he bucked forward unexpectedly. She glanced up at him – his eyes were wide with worry – apologetic and a little embarrassed.

"It's ok," Beth whispered, letting out an innocent giggle as she slid her hand out and unbuttoned his pants. Her fingers shook as she did so. Daryl was still frozen in his spot as Beth pushed the rest of his clothing to the ground.

She took a step closer to him. His features were a mixture of emotions that Beth didn't even want to bother deciphering.

Beth slid her hand down his stomach, slowly, until finally, her fingers wrapped around his cock. He was big – or, she thought so anyway. It's not like she had anything to compare it to…

"You don't have to," Daryl breathed out. She glanced up to look at his face. His brows were furrowed, a look of panic in his eyes. Shutting her down before she had the chance to do it to him. _Always on the defense,_ she thought to herself silently.

"I want this, Daryl Dixon."

Beth's dainty little fingers wrapped around his cock. In response, Daryl groaned loudly. It was almost enough to make Beth pull away. She turned bright red, but she kept going. Because he needed this. She needed this. _She was in charge_ , and with Daryl, she didn't need a lot of reminding. And she loved that.

"Is this ok?" Beth asked, glancing up, searching for his gaze as she moved a little quicker, rubbing circles with her thumb on his head. His eyes widened once more. She had a bad habit of always taking him by surprise. There she was, standing in a dirty bathroom, jerking him off, _asking if she was doing it right_.

"Y-yeah. It's good, Beth. So good..." His eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape.

"Look at me," she requested. Her voice still carried a layer of innocence, but now there was something else: desire. She needed him to look at her while she did this. She needed to feel his eyes. She needed his gaze burned into the back of her mind.

His eyes fluttered open. "Ok."

"What do you need?" She asked softly, licking her lips as her eyes locked onto his.

"'S fine," he insisted, his voice straining a little as he leaned forward, catching sight of her small hand wrapped around his cock.

Her hand was wet with his precome, and she knew he'd finish soon. How long had it been since a woman had touched him? Years. It didn't help when Beth began to pick up the pace.

"Beth, hold on, I'm-" She cut him off, hushing him silently.

"Touch me." She pulled her hand away, and Daryl groaned when she broke contact. Dazed.

"Where?"

She blushed, glancing away.

"You gotta tell me," he insisted. And she knew she had to. Daryl wouldn't any other way.

"Here…" Beth said, grabbing his hand and sliding it underneath her shirt, resting it on top of her bra. It was tattered and very, very old. But it was the end of the world, and this had happened so unexpectedly…

Daryl pulled her bra down gently, cupping her breast in one hand as both of her hands wrapped around his cock once more. This time, Beth had found a decent rhythm. She jerked him faster, but steadily. With rhythm. Maybe she did know what she was doing after all

Beth let out a moan was Daryl rubbed his thumb over her nipple. It felt good. Fuck, she hadn't expected it to feel that good. And suddenly, she wanted more. Needed it. But this wasn't about her, and she wasn't ready. Not yet. So she focused on him and ignored the wetness between her thighs.

"Christ, Beth. Fuck…" Daryl grunted, squeezing her breast tightly. His hips started to buck forward, and she knew he was close. She didn't pull away. In fact, she moved quicker than before, not realizing that she too was moaning just from watching him.

"Beth? Beth, Christ. Hold on, I'm gonna – you gotta –"

Before Daryl could say another word, she heard him groan loudly. He said her name repeatedly, and eventually, words faltered and all he could muster were a few broken sounds. She felt the thickness of his come in her hands – on the bottom of her shirt. It was thick and there was a lot of it. She glanced up at Daryl, and he looked a little embarrassed. But she didn't care. Daryl reached forward, grabbing her by the waist in the heat of the moment, and burying his face into her shoulder. His entire body was still shaking. Beth was breathing hard, too.

It wasn't long until Daryl pulled away, guilt and embarrassment flooding his face. "I didn't mean to – I mean, I wasn't gonna…"

Beth pulled away from him, cheeks red, a shy smile dancing on the edges of her lips. "It's okay." She felt at ease. Calm. She'd touched him, and he'd let her.

"Do you want me to-"

Beth shook her head. "Not tonight."

"Ok." Daryl paused. He twisted his mouth slightly as he bent over and grabbed his clothing, sliding back into his pants. "You regret it?" Daryl finally asked. The question had been looming in the air since he'd finished.

Beth shook her head. "I don't regret it," she replied, smiling sweetly at him.

He paused. Relief washed over him, and then something else. Something Beth couldn't quite read. But all he mustered out was one word: "ok."


End file.
